Living Out A Legacy
by StromaGrintLovers
Summary: George Weasley can't imagine running Weasley Wizarding Wheezes without his beloved twin brother but a mysterious guest brings him newfound hope that he can.


**Living Out A Legacy **

**Disclaimer: As much as we would love to own Harry Potter, we don't. If we had, well, Fred wouldn't be dead now would he? **

The sounds of laughter and clinking goblets could be heard all down the narrow alley. Voldemort was gone, defeated, and the wizarding world could now be at peace. People were crowded in the street, repairing shops and celebrating. However, amongst the happiness there was also a deep sadness, a mourning for the dead. That sadness was reflected in one man's eyes as he made his way down Diagon Alley. That man was George Weasley.

He heard the shouts, the merriment, the songs of joy that came with the defeat of Lord Voldemort. People were praising The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, The Savior of the Wizarding World. They were praising Harry Potter, the one who vanquished Lord Voldemort. But George couldn't revel in the happiness that everyone else was feeling. He was numbed, broken. The other part of his life, his beloved twin brother, was dead. Gone.

He shoved passed a drunken wizard who was dancing on top of a barrel of butterbeer, singing a random tune while he made his way to his shop. Pulling out a handful of keys he unlocked the door to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and stood in the doorway. The shop was empty; it had been empty for months. Fred had worried about it. He told George that he was afraid that they'd go bankrupt if they didn't sell anything. People had been too afraid to leave their homes to even go to Diagon Alley. Those times seemed like forever ago…

His sharp eyes stared at the piles of freshly stocked merchandise. The once vibrant colors and cheeky signs that made George smile now made him feel empty. Here in this room was where he and Fred once argued about where they were supposed to put the Nosebleed Nougats and how much they would charge for them. Here in this room is where they made their first sale and they had examined the money they had received so carefully. They had wanted to expand. Fred was the one who had thought of buying Zonko's. "Let's wait until this bloody war is over," he told George as the weighed their options about buying. "That way we're more confident about our inventory and we won't have to worry about going bankrupt."

The door shut softly behind George as he moved into the store more, his eyes scanning more products. Patented Daydream Charms, Skiving Snack boxes, Portable Swamps…most of them had been the ingenious ideas of Fred during the most random hours of the day. The Decoy Detonators had been Fred's idea too. It had been two o'clock in the morning and George had been sleeping when he had been woken up to Fred's frantic yell of, "Egad George, I just had the most excellent idea!" They had spent the next six hours carefully planning and executing their idea. "Genius Fred." George had said, clapping his smug brother on the back. "Absolutely genius."

The memory faded and George's sight came back into focus. He walked down the small aisle way, his unhurried footsteps echoing throughout the now vacant store. Cobwebs covered the shelves where teenage girls used to once ogle over love potions, dust caked the Extendable Ears they used to secretly listen to Order meetings, and Punching Telescopes lay broken on the ground from having fallen from their high perch.

George passed the register counter, headed toward the back room, but stopped and looked back. Next to the register sat a bowl of individually wrapped pieces of Fever Fudge. He picked one up and stared at it in his hand. A memory from their fifth year at Hogwarts, their last year, came flooding into his scattered thoughts. It was the first Quidditch match of the year, against Slytherin, and Fred had insisted on trying out the fudge just before the game. "Come on George, its perfect. There is no way we messed up this batch," he had pleaded. Oh how he was wrong. Everything was fine after they had finished off their latest product, until they began walking down to the pitch.

"George? Do you feel that there's something wrong with…uhh…your bicycle area?" he had asked, pulling at his Quidditch gear.

"Bloody hell Fred. I think we have a big problem." That was the day they figured out that Fever Fudge did not only give you an incredible, quick fever, but an extremely irritated, bumpy backside. It had been even worse that day especially since their Quidditch captain, the maniacal Oliver Wood, had kept them on the pitch for hours on end.

There was a small knock as the candy hit the hardwood floor and a crackling crunch from it being stepped on. George lifted his food and gazed at the smashed candy destroyed before him.

"Damn you," he whispered, "damn all of it."

George twisted his foot and heard the 'crackle crackle' as the candy was ground into a fine powder. Lifting his leg, George examined the bottom of his foot and saw the residue. He wiped his foot against the floor and walked on. He didn't care about the mess. Why should he care about an insignificant mess when his brother—his best friend—was dead? With each step he took he heard the crunch of more candy being destroyed.

But he didn't care.

He walked forward even further into the store, his eyes gazing upon more of the products. His eyes gazed upon the Reusable Hangman. That idea had actually been one of George's. Fred had come down with a case of laryngitis and instead of writing down what he was trying to say, he had made it a game of hangman, much to George's annoyance. Fred had enjoyed the game tremendously but found it incredibly irksome to keep drawing the gallows and the person, along with trying to remember how many letters belonged in which sentence.

"You know what we should do?" George had said to his brother as he crumpled up another used piece of parchment and lobbed it into the trashcan only to miss horribly. "Blimey, now I know why I wasn't a Chaser at Hogwarts." He flicked his wand and managed to get the parchment ball into the bin. "But, what we should do is make some sort of Hangman device that will show some guy actually going up to the gallows and hanging himself with each letter the players get wrong."

Fred's eyes had gone wide and he thumped the table in his agreement. He had Accio'd some more parchment and scribbled down a, 'that's actually a good idea.'

And who would know that their Reusable Hangman would actually be a hit amongst kids?

Anger suddenly hit George as he stared at the device. His vision suddenly went red and before he knew it his wand was out and he was shouting, "REDUCTO!" The next thing he heard was a tremendous BANG and the Reusable Hangmen crashed to the wooden floors in a thousand pieces. The power of the spell sent things flying in every directions, breaking shelves and more products. Breathing heavily George pocketed his wand and was silent, listening to the muffled noises of his neighbors celebrating.

"Why Fred?" George croaked out, looking at the destroyed products. "Why did you leave me? Why did you leave us?"

A flood of tears streamed down George's face as he slumped down against the front counter. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his head against his arms. The whole time, through the funerals and family mourning, he had held it in. Wallowing in his own distress, never showing his tears or anger, bottling it up for a time when he could release it. This was the moment, no one around to say that 'they understand how he feels,' because they didn't, how could they? They never lost their other half.

George lifted his head, whipping his tear stained face off on the back of his sleeve. A wave of relief had washed over him from letting go of the tears. Leaning his head back, he sighed, realizing how tired he actually was. The lack of sleep from the past couple of days had finally caught up with him. Picking up his wand from beside him, he slowly got up, steadying himself with the counter. He couldn't look up; he couldn't look at any more of the things.

Turning on heel, George climbed his way up to the flat he and Fred once shared. He felt numb, sadness was substituted with anger and his life was in a constant fog. On his way upstairs his legs moved on their own accord, his vision tunneled and blurry.

A million thoughts were swimming through his head, and all he wanted to do was clear them out. Tears leaked from his eyes again, dripping down his long, narrow face. What he didn't see was the Decoy Detonator sitting on the next step, blocking his path.

With a crunch, George's foot smashed the box, causing his foot to go out from under him. He grabbed the railing for support and caught himself. Looking down at the tiny box, he picked it up and threw it across the store. It went sailing, hitting a stack of Skiving Snack boxes and sent the tower of treats crashing to the floor. Standing up straight again, he started making his way to the flat once again. However, with every glance he saw more inventions and his anger grew.

Slashing his hand across the shelf, he sent a dozen outdated love potions cascading to the floor. He couldn't handle it, the fury was just too much. Fred should still be here, rejoicing with all the others.

Taking the stairs two at a time, George reached the third floor landing. Wrenching open the door, he went in slamming it closed behind him. Everything reminded him of his twin, and he couldn't handle that fact.

Pictures on the wall hit him the hardest. Moving over to one of the pictures, George saw that it was taken from their third year. He saw all the players from the 1991-1992 Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Towering over them all was Oliver Wood, now part of Puddlemere United as a reserve. Next to him were the three Chaser girls, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson. His eyes roamed over Angelina, the majestic beauty that had stolen Fred's heart. They had gone to the Yule Ball together and had been off-and-on for the rest of their Hogwarts schooling. After Hogwarts, Fred had lamented not pursuing her further and he told George he was going to ask her out once this bloody war was over. George externally had told his brother to go for it but internally, he was a raging mess. He liked Angelina too, a lot, but Fred had dibs. He wasn't going to spoil his brother's happiness.

Fred never got his chance with her.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, George's eyes dropped onto the tiniest boy on the team—eleven year old Harry Potter. Even though he was in emotional pain, George couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. Short with glasses that overpowered his thin face, Harry looked like what he should be—a child. George remembered how wary their whole team had been when Oliver Wood enthusiastically introduced Harry to the team. He had been only a first year but when they saw how good he was, they were amazed. "It's in his blood." Oliver had said as Harry trudged off the field after to the showers. "His dad was Quidditch captain too." Oliver had looked at Harry with barely held pride and competitive glee. "We got it this year. The Quidditch Cup is ours."

The next part was the hardest. George looked at the only red-heads on the team—the Weasley twins who were play punching each other in the picture while Oliver glared at the two. George smiled again as he saw his thirteen year old self grab Fred in a headlock while Alicia and Katie silently laughed at the spectacle.

His smile faded as he moved to another picture which showed the twins a couple years later and looking much older. They were wearing (what George considered) hideous magenta robes that clashed with their hair and standing outside Weasley Wizarding Wheezes with a 'grand opening' sign. Both Weasleys were grinning exuberantly and proudly. He remembered that day well. It had been one of the proudest days of their lives but the night following—he didn't remember anything. He, Fred, and Lee Jordan had gotten trashed on Firewhiskey in celebration of a good day.

He looked at more and more pictures, each causing his heart to hurt more. This was way too painful for him. He couldn't be in the joke shop business anymore. Not without his brother. This was their dream. They both had planned this for years. He would sell the business. He couldn't stand working here and living here knowing that his brother's spirit was also here. His inventions still here too.

"Why Fred?" George whispered to nothing. "Why did you have to go? I can't run this store without you. I-I—Merlin—I can't. I'm sorry Fred, but I can't run this store knowing you're not here with me."

His eyelids suddenly felt heavy and his bed looked inviting. After an emotionally draining day, George thought he deserved some sleep. His feet dragged him to his bed and without a second thought; he passed out against it, tumbling into dreamland.

--

"George Weasley, I swear to Merlin, I could curse you right now."

George's eyes snapped open and he scrambled upwards, looking about. That voice sounded so familiar but it was impossible…that person was dead.

"You lot buried me six feet under in a revolting suit Mum picked out! Really George? Out of all the outfits that I owned you had to let Mum dress me in the one outfit that I could not stand for all eternity? Thanks George. Thanks a lot."

George leapt out of bed, his heart thudding. Sitting on the bed across the room with a cocky smirk on his face—a face so familiar to George—was Fred.

"F-Fred?" George asked, stammering over the name and not believing he was real. He was dreaming. He had to be.

Fred stood up and made a point of touching the bed to show that he was quite solid. "Wotcher George."

George couldn't believe his eyes. Here standing in front of him was the brother he just recently laid to rest in the Weasley family cemetery. "How can you be here? You're—" He couldn't bear to say the words.

"Dead? Well yeah, I am."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Fred looked at his nails, buffed them against the dark coat of his suit and looked at George. "Mate, you were destroying the shop. Do you know how bad that hurt to see you tear apart our merchandise like that? You were killing me—whoops, guess I can't say that anymore as I am dead."

George scowled. "Not funny."

"Yeah I know. Black humor, I'm chock full of it. Ha ha." Fred grinned and walked over to where George was before his visage turned serious. "Seriously though, giving up on the shop? What the hell George? How can you give up on the shop? This is our dream!"

"Key word—our. How can I keep the shop going when you're not around Fred? I don't have the spirit in me anymore. You died Fred and the want to help future pranksters died with you."

Fred shook his head and crossed his arms. "Yeah, I died, that is completely obvious. But the spirit hasn't died with me George. You're just grief stricken. And besides, how are you to carry on the legacy of Fred Weasley by giving up? Remember we were going to buy Zonko's? Buy the place! Keep my memory alive George."

George looked away, unable to speak.

"So what are you going to do instead? Get a job at the Ministry?" Fred mimed vomiting. "You know as well as I do that you never wanted to work in a small cubicle, listening to some pompous git give us directions. Percy did that and look what happened to him. You never worked well with other people ordering you around. Umbridge for starters."

George knew his brother was right. He absolutely detested the 9 to 5 routine every single day with set hours and set vacations working in a vocation he would get bored of. With the shop, he set his own hours and holidays and he would never get sick of his profession.

"Plus George, do you really want to show Mum that she was right? We spent so many years telling her we were never going to work in the Ministry, you being the most anal about it."

George sighed and looked at Fred, studying his face and memorizing every line. Sure he and Fred were identical twins (well not anymore as Fred had two ears and George had one) but there was something different about Fred that George didn't have and he wanted to make sure he always remembered how his brother looked. He knew his brother was right. The Weasley twins had always made it a point to prove their mother wrong. She wanted them to work in the Ministry and they had steadfast refused.

Fred leaned forward and rested a hand against George's shoulder. "You're angry right now that I'm gone, I get that. But life goes on. Merlin this will sound corny and please, punch me for saying this, but even though I'm gone, I'll always be here in spirit."

"Definite chick flick moment right there." George said causing Fred to laugh. "There's the George I remember. Not this weeping, screaming, and destroying of merchandise George that's here now."

Fred looked about the room and sighed. "Here's what you need to do. First off, you need to repair everything downstairs and put it back in its proper position or I swear to Merlin I will haunt you for the rest of your days. Secondly, you will pack away all my things and put them in storage. No reason to foul your mood everyday seeing my stuff everywhere. Thirdly," Fred gestured to the picture of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, "Angelina will be deeply grieved because of my passing. Console her. I give you my blessing as long as you name your firstborn after me." He winked to show he was kidding. "And fourthly, hire Ron as your new assistant. He'll need something to do for a while and I figure he'll be a natural. After all, he was the brother underneath us."

George made careful note of Fred's advice and nodded. "I'm—going to miss you Fred."

Fred's mood turned somber now and he looked at George in the eye. "I know. I'll miss you too, and the family. But eventually, we'll all see each other again, right?"

George had to ask though. "Are you sure that this shop will succeed?" He asked Fred hesitantly. "I don't know if I can go through it."

"Trust me, you will." Fred fished in his pocket and pulled something out. Grabbing George's hand, he placed the item squarely into his hand and closed his fist around it. With another small smile and a wave goodbye, Fred gently tapped George on the head.

--

George awoke with a start, nearly tumbling out of the bed. It had been a dream, just a dream. But it seemed so real, so vivid; he felt the pressure of Fred's hand pressed against his own when he pressed something in his hand. He looked down at his hand and to his surprise, he found his hand clenched tightly into a fist. There was no way that there was something sitting in his hand, it had only been a dream, it was impossible. His stomach churned with butterflies as he slowly unclenched his fist. He was honestly scared to look and see what lay in his hand.

Through squinted eyes, George looked down at his now open palm. What he saw almost made him pass out and his stomach now felt nauseous. Tears flooded from his eyes once again as he glanced back down at the small object in his hand. There sitting on his palm was a perfectly wrapped piece of Fever Fudge.

He couldn't help but keep crying. That piece of candy proved that it hadn't been just a dream, Fred had been there! How else could it have gotten in his hand? George thought back on what his twin had told him, 'Keep my memory alive George.' Fred was right; he couldn't give up, not now, not ever. Even in death, Fred was a genius. What better way to remember the fallen, then granting their final wishes.

George stood up and whipped his tear stained face on the back of his sleeve. Glancing at the candy one last time, he gave it a squeezed and slipped it into his pocket. He walked out of the bedroom, back to the sitting room that led down to the joke shop. Determination etched on his face, George grabbed his wand and opened the door heading down to the shop. However, he felt as if he was forgetting something, something that needed to go with him. Turning back around, the picture of Fred and himself on opening day caught his eye. That was it; he raced back into the room and grabbed the picture, then headed back to his previous destination.

The slamming of the door behind him echoed throughout the silent shop. George glanced around, inspecting the damage he had done.

"I didn't think I broke this much stuff," he sighed to himself, descending the stairs. He stopped at the broken love potion bottles he'd knocked off the shelf. Shattered glass lay everywhere, liquid dripping onto the floor below and releasing a sweet, powerful aroma. George pointed his wand at the shards of glass. "Reparo!" he shouted, and in a split second, the bottles were restored back to their original state. However, the love potion still dripped from the shelf, forming puddles everywhere.

"Scorgify!" he said, waving his wand over the mess. The puddles vanished and the floor was clean once again. George smiled something he had not done in days. Somehow, putting the store back together felt like putting his heart back together.

Jogging down the creaky stairs, he straightened things and blew away the dust. He reached the Skiving Snackboxes scattered on the floor, individual candies lying on the ground, broken free from their boxes. George gave his wand a wave and the boxes went flying, stacking themselves into their original pyramid form. The cleaning went on for another hour, before everything was clean and colorful once again.

George walked behind the counter, glancing around and smiling at the sights around him. They had done it, they had completed their dream. Now, he needed to continue their legacy and live out the dream, live it not just for Fred, but for himself too.

Turning around, George stared at the clock on the wall for a moment. He never liked that clock, and he knew of something more suitable that could go there. Picking up the picture frame of him and Fred, he pointed his wand at it.

"Engorgio," he said. The frame and picture grew, bringing the smiling faces into a more clear view. He removed the clock and placed the enlarged picture upon the wall. Taking a step back, George admired his work. It was nice, but something was still missing. Sticking his hands in his pockets, his hand came across a small, hard object. George pulled out the Fever Fudge he had found placed in his hand earlier. Fingering it in his hand, one last time, he finally set it on the shelf below the picture. He transfigured a small box into a plastic case and set it around it.

He then walked into the office, grabbing one of the gold plate pieces they were going to put their names on for their desks. Setting it down on a flat surface, he took his wand and slowly engraved small letters into it. When he finished, he whipped it clean and went back out to the picture. Centering the plate, he permanently stuck it to the wall, for all who entered the shop to see. George smiled with satisfaction and looked up toward the ceiling.

"You better appreciate all this Fred. I don't think I've ever cleaned this much in my life. I'll miss ya mate, take care and don't get into too much trouble without me." George smiled one last time before heading back upstairs to plan all the necessary details for the reopening. Half way up the stairs, he looked down at the golden plaque. It glistened as the sun shone through the window, highlighting each word. 'Our Futures Lay Outside The World of Academic Achievement - Fred Weasley, 1995. Rest In Peace.'

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the story, we certainly enjoyed working on it! Reviews make our world go round!**

**-StromaGrintLovers **


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